


7 Seconds

by sponsormusings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Prompts in Panem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5042335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sponsormusings/pseuds/sponsormusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes all it took was a few seconds for your entire life to change, for it to completely divert from the course it had originally been set on.</p>
<p>The only thing Peeta Mellark knew for absolute certain was that, for him, those seconds were always connected to Katniss Everdeen.</p>
<p>A submission for Prompts in Panem, round 8. Day 7.</p>
            </blockquote>





	7 Seconds

**1.**

His cheek burned, stinging with every pulse of the blood that had begun to pool under the surface; he could already feel the skin beginning to swell and puff, already knew that within a matter of hours he wouldn’t be able to see out of that eye, and it would swirl with shades of black and deep purple.

Tomorrow, he knew he’d have to tell Miss Adams that he’d gotten in the wrong position at the wrong time at wrestling practice. Again.

But that didn’t matter.

Stumbling outside into the rain, the two loaves of bread clutched to his chest, he knew his split second decision to knock the tray inside the oven had been worth it. Especially now, when he saw the way she was huddled against the tree, her black hair plastered to her head, and her cheekbones as sharp as glass underneath her skin. Her arms were long, thin enough that it made his heart ache, and were wrapped around knees that were clearly knobby through threadbare pants that barely fit her.

Peeta quickly glanced over his shoulder, made sure his mother was occupied serving the front counter in the bakery, then took a few steps towards the pig pen. He tore at the burned bread, threw a chunk half-heartedly towards the swines, then the rest across the muddied earth towards her.

She looked up at him then, bottomless grey depths filled with defeat and confusion. But he just glanced at the bread, then back at her, and hoped it was enough for her to understand. And she did, the realisation clear on her face as what he was offering finally hit her.

She scrambled to her feet, grasping at the bread with hands clenched into fists from the cold, and tucked them inside her jacket, running away along the treeline without a second glance, or even an acknowledgement.

He wasn’t looking for a thanks, though. He just wanted Katniss Everdeen to live. That in itself was more than enough.

 

**2.**

The air was thick with tension, with nerves, and the overarching feeling of shock. Conversations were murmured, not loud enough for the Peacekeepers to stop them, but loud enough for him to feel and hear the grief and surprise in every word that was uttered.

Katniss Everdeen had just volunteered for her sister.

It had been one thing to hear Prim’s named called, his own stomach pitching out at the thought of Katniss losing her sister to the Games. But it had been another thing entirely for him to hear her own voice, loud and clear and strong, call out across the square, and push Prim back into the crowd.

He could barely take in what Effie was saying, his eyes focused on Katniss in her sky blue dress, her eyes wide and empty, her hands hanging limply by her sides. The Escort’s high-pitched Capitol accent couldn’t penetrate his thoughts, though; they were wholly and solely on Katniss, on the thought of her going into the Arena, on the thought of her having to fight for her life all over again.

And then a second later Effie said the only thing that could have brought him back.

She was calling _his_ name.

It was like a montage of the worst things he could think of running through his head, image after image from the games the year before passing before his eyes. A Tribute being pushed to their death off a cliff into a ravine full of huge silver spikes. Another being stabbed in the chest with a serrated knife, their flesh being torn like it was nothing more than wax paper. A young boy being attacked by mutated rats, their vicious teeth tearing away his face while his screams pierced the air.

He had no choice but to put one foot in front of the other, and stumble down the dusty pathway to the stage.

He took the stairs, allowed Effie to drag him up the final couple of steps and onto the platform, but he still barely heard a thing. Then Effie was stepping back, and Katniss was turning to face him, her hand outstretched in his direction. Automatically, he lifted his own, clasped her ice cold palm in his sweaty one.

And he realised that those images from the other games weren’t the worst thing he could think of. Because nothing terrified him more than the fact that Katniss was standing in front of him, her hand encased in his. And for her to live meant that he had to die.

 

**3.**

The sky above him cracked like an egg, splintered apart, pieces of the Arena raining down above him. Fire bloomed, sparks flew like fireworks, smoke began to fill the air, and he wondered what had happened, what had caused it to begin to cave in on itself. Then, through the gap in the exploding structure, he saw it. The hovercraft, slowly lowering into the atmosphere.

In that second, he knew it didn’t matter what happened, only that it was all over.

He gripped his aching shoulder, dislocated in his fight with Brutus, and hurried to crouch beneath a low lying tree, hoped it would provide him enough coverage while he figured out the best thing for him to do. He huddled under its wide green branches, hoped that Katniss was somehow doing the same thing, that she was doing all she could to hide, to get away from them.

And if not...well, he hoped she went down fighting. He couldn’t bear the thought of them capturing her, of her being in the hands of the Capitol. Because while the thought of Katniss dead was his worst nightmare, the thought of Katniss back in the Capitol was more than he was capable of comprehending.

They would do unspeakable things to her, he knew.

He considered heading back to the water, back to the Cornucopia. If he was out in the open, anyone who was still watching - and he was certain the entire country was watching this right now - would be able to see him, would be privy to exactly whatever they did to him, would maybe finally be able to see how little the Gamemakers cared for their so-called ‘beloved’ Victors. Then he felt a sharp prick in the back of his neck, lifted his hand to brush against the small, sharp dart that protruded from his flesh.

And, as the world spun and turned to black, he cursed himself for forgetting about his tracker.

He could never hide.

 

**4.**

He sat on his front porch, his head in his hands and his heart in his throat, as the screams and whimpers and cries carried across the street to him.

He hadn’t been sure what to think when he’d seen the cat slowly creep up the sidewalk. His first reaction had been shock, knowing the last time he’d seen Buttercup had been the one occasion Prim had snuck him into his hospital room, thousands of miles away in Thirteen. But this Buttercup was different to the one he remembered - he was a battle-scarred one, patches of fur missing, his back leg damaged and causing a limp, his gaze wary as he scanned the street ahead of him. He’d sat on the lawn for a good 5 minutes, his paws folded in front of him primly, before rising and moving towards the house, awkwardly leaping onto an open windowsill on the porch, disappearing inside.

Ten minutes later, the howls had begun.

He could still hear Katniss screaming, crying, could hear the heartbreak in her voice. Something inside of him wanted nothing more than to run across the street, to hold onto her like those nights on the train, and soothe the pain until it went away. But there was another part that still told him not to go near her, to keep his distance, to just let things be with them. There was still so much left unsaid. So much unknown.

The moon was high in the sky when he finally got the courage to cross the street, the silence from the Everdeen house deafening after the noise from the afternoon. He’d told himself he was just going in to check on her, to make sure that both she and Buttercup were okay - and when his knocking went unanswered, was grateful to discover that the front door was unlocked.

He stepped inside, tried to keep his tread as light as possible as he moved through the front hallway into the living room - then stopped short when he saw her sprawled on the sofa, Buttercup sitting guard beside her, a sliver of light from the moon highlighting both of them. He could see the streaks of tears dried on her cheeks, could tell from the puffiness under her eyes that she’d cried herself to sleep.

And rather than fighting the urge that almost consumed him, he listened to it.

Bending slightly, he slid one arm under her knees, the other underneath her shoulder blades, and gently lifted her into his arms. She was as light as a feather, lighter than he could ever remember her being, and it felt like he was carrying nothing as he made his way out to and up the staircase. Following the same path he'd tread in what felt like another lifetime, he went straight to her bedroom - the memory of her asking him to stay with her in this room never had a shine to it - and slowly lowered her to the mattress. Buttercup leapt up, hissed quietly when he landed awkwardly on his injured paw, and curled up beside her, his eyes gleaming yellow in the night.

Peeta drew the sheet up over her, brushed a stray strand of hair away from her cheek - and felt his heart stop when she stirred, was worried that she’d wake and he’d scare her by being here when she didn’t expect it.

And then her head snuggled in closer to the pillow, her breathing evened out and her body relaxed - he breathed in a sigh of relief.

But he’d realised, in those few seconds where she’d drifted between wake and sleep, that he _wanted_ to be there in those moments between wake and sleep, and every other moment in between. He wanted to know her again, and for her to know him. Properly, without the Games, without the war. Without anything but _them_.

He knew he’d be back tomorrow.

 

**5.**

He could feel it building in his chest, feel the tingle at the base of his spine, feel it in the way his toes wanted to curl and in the way his hips wanted to jerk against hers feverishly.

But he paused.

Because _this_ , right now, changed everything.

He lowered his mouth to hers again, their tongues tangling in impatience and desire and anticipation. It had never been like this before, never as heady or desperate or frantic. Nights like this before had been slow, measured, a gentle exploration as they began to discover each other - as they learnt that kissing the spot in the crook of Katniss’ neck made her sigh, or the simple trail of her finger along the band of his pants before sliding just underneath the fabric made him instantly and ridiculously hard. But tonight...tonight was different. Tonight was finally going to be more.

Supporting himself on his elbows, he cupped her face with his hands, his fingers tangling in the long strands that had escaped from her braid. He didn’t take his eyes off her, and she didn’t take hers off him - he could see the faintest flutter of her eyelashes, the tremble of her bottom lip, felt the hitch in her chest, felt the long, lean muscle in her calf twitch against his own leg. And then she spoke, a long breathy sigh that drifted across his cheek, brushed across his lips.

“Peeta?”

“Yeah?” He could barely get the word out, could barely hear either of their words over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Please. I...I need you.”

It was all he needed.

He began to thrust, almost hesitantly at first, trying out a rhythm that felt natural, that felt right. He could feel her tense against him, and pressed his lips to her forehead, to her brow bone, to the tip of her nose, moved his hand so that it drifted down her shoulder, his palm lightly cupping her breast and causing her to inhale sharply.

Her stubby nails scraped down his back, his hand got caught between them as her breasts pressed insistently against his chest with the sudden arching of her back. A garbled moan fell from her lips, and he swallowed it eagerly, pressing his mouth to hers, almost sloppily in his greediness for her.

His need was insatiable.

His hips began to snap erratically against hers as the tension inside of him built, her feet hooking around his own calves as though anchoring herself to him. And when her body stiffened, when her eyes drifted shut and her mouth dropped open and she groaned his name as she came, he knew he only had a matter of seconds before he followed her beyond the point of no return.

He gladly let go.

 

**6.**

She sat out in the middle of the meadow, her legs drawn up to her chest, her head resting on the top of her knees. From here, where he stood at the edge of the flower strewn field, she looked the picture of serenity - enjoying the sun and the warm weather, the cool breeze drifting through the trees. But he knew, from the way she’d run out of the house an hour before, that she wasn’t.

He made his way across the grass, his prosthetic leg thudding louder with every second step he took, his uneven gait a clear giveaway that he was coming. When he reached her, he lowered himself to the ground and folded his legs in front of him, rested his elbows on his knees. At first he didn’t say anything, just let the silence continue between them - he knew there were times that she didn’t need to talk, that she just needed the _time_. He just made sure he was always there with her.

“I had a dream about Prim,” she eventually sighed, turning her head so that her cheek was resting on her knees, and she could look directly at him.

“I thought so,” he replied softly. “I’m sorry.”

Katniss licked her lips. “It wasn’t a bad dream. It was a good one, one from when we were younger, and she was milking Lady, and a stream of milk hit her in the face. She’d laughed about it for hours, said that her face would always stay young because she’d bathed in milk.”

He smiled. “How does that work?”

“It doesn’t,” she told him, the corner of her mouth turning up slightly. “It was an old wives tale, I think, something my mother heard from her mother and so forth.” She bit down on her lower lip, the smile disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. “It’s just memories like that that make me miss her the most. _That’s_ when it really hits me. I hate knowing everything she’ll miss out on, the things she’ll never see, the things she’ll never do.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drew her into him until her head lifted and rested on his shoulder. Thought that how everything she was saying, he always felt the same way about his brothers. What kind of men would they be like now? Would Ethen be running the bakery? Would Aaran have ever stopped playing practical jokes? He’d never know. And neither would they. “I know. Me too.”

He felt her snuggle into him a little closer. “And I just know she would have loved this. Us. She was always in your corner, Peeta. She knew before I did how I felt about you, and she’d just be so excited. She would have loved being an aunt.”

_What?_

The word dropped into the air, suddenly, unexpectedly, and he felt his heart leap. _She couldn’t...she wasn’t...no...they’d only barely just begun to try, after years of waiting, of wondering if it was the right thing for them, of whether they could do this._

He blinked once, twice, swallowed heavily. “Katniss, did you just-”

She nodded, effectively cutting off whatever else he’d been thinking of saying. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

His hand tightened against her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You’re...you’re pregnant?”

When she lifted her head, her eyes were wide and terrified, but carried a hint of hope. “Yeah I am. We’re having a baby, Peeta.”

His life changed in an instant.

 

**7.**

It was cold outside, a perfect January evening with a gently falling snow cocooning them inside their house with the fire going, his new family ready to settle in for the night and snuggle under a blanket.

_Family_.

It was still a word that stunned him, knowing that he had a family of his own. He didn’t just have Katniss anymore, though she’d always been more than enough for him. But now he had Holly, too.

She was resting on his thighs, her eyes scrunched shut, her little hands clenched into fists as she stretched. Her fingernails were no bigger than a spot, her lips were a little pink rosebud, her hair soft and dark across her scalp.

Holly Mellark was everything to him.

He glanced up in time to see Katniss step into the room, a small smile on her face and a foil-covered plate in her hands. She crossed to where they were seated on the rug in front of the fire, dropping down beside them and folding her legs in front of her.

“Dessert?” He asked with a smile.

“Not quite, “ she murmured, and slowly removed the foil lid.

His heart stopped.

It was a slice of bread, thickly cut and overflowing with nuts and fruits - a hearty loaf full of nutrients and fibre. A loaf designed to keep a stomach full for longer.

A loaf like the one he burned in the fire.

“Where did you get this?” he breathed.

“I got it from the bakery,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing. “I asked Delly to buy it for me this morning.”

He blinked. “Why? Why didn’t you just come and buy it yourself?”

Katniss looked away. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” His heart was telling him only one thing, but he was terrified he was overthinking it.

“Well…I thought it would be nice to bring it full circle. You gave me this bread, and it saved me, and whether we knew it at the time or not, it led us here. To a point where I can say...I’m going to give this to you, so we can toast it. Together.” She said it in a rush, as though the quicker she said it, the easier it would be. She took a deep breath, let it out again slowly, and this time when she spoke, her voice was even and calm. “And I’m not saying or suggesting this just because of Holly, but because I want to.” Her hand reached out, brushed across the arm of their sleeping daughter as she lifted her eyes to his. “Because it feels right. Because I love you.”

His heart was fit to burst.

He took the plate from her, placed it on the floor beside them and cupped her cheeks in his palms, careful not to jostle Holly. “You were my temptation for so long, what I wanted but could never have. Everything should have prevented us from being together, yet nothing did,” he murmured, and his thumb brushed at a tear that had begun to slowly track down her cheek at his words. “Not my mother, not our social class, not a hunger games, not even President Snow warping my mind until you were the enemy. I want to do this too, because it feels right. Because I love you. Because I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for this moment.”

He kissed her then, hard and enthusiastic, and with every ounce of emotion he had filling him.

A second was all it took for them to make things official, in the traditional District Twelve way.


End file.
